Phoenix Blood
by Skade
Summary: "As soon as Albus Dumbledore did it, he regretted it..."


As soon as Albus Dumbledore did it, he regretted it.

The action overtook his sense on an otherwise quiet, normal night early in his career when he was relatively unknown to the erudite thinkers of the Wizarding World. He still wrestled with the mysteries of dragon's blood. Day and night, the dark crimson liquid that occasionally frothed grey seemed to taunt him. It was in this mad quest for information that he did it.

He didn't know quite why. It had been late, he had been tired, mind addled by a seemingly endless day of looking over piles and piles of papers. Maybe that was some excuse for why the dagger found its way into his hands - the same dagger that he used to draw the crucial blood from dozing dragons earlier that week. And, maybe, it was for the same strange reason that he moved over to Fawkes - dear Fawkes, his constant companion.

The sleeping phoenix wasn't even bothered by it, although he did tuck his head back farther into his downy feathers when the blood fell, trickling, from his exposed leg. A few precious drops fell into the glass bowl Albus held before the wound healed itself, and Albus finally brought himself back to his senses. He reeled back, wondering what exactly he had done, fumbling the dagger onto a table.

Yet the glass bowl remained in his hands, each drop of the fresh blood gleaming. It was bright crimson, but also sparkled with a myriad pattern of firey colors that was almost mesmerizing. As it shone like jewels, the blood proved that it was from no mortal beast... that it was no ordinary thing.

Albus stared at it numbly.

It was far too precious to experiment with, that he determined the first night. And he couldn't bear to draw more samples, even if Fawkes didn't seem particularly to mind. He found that the small amount of the glimmering liquid would just fit in the smallest vial he had - one meant to be worn on a chain around the neck. He found a chain of gold, and found that if he wore the necklace underneath his robes, no one could tell. The vial was pleasantly warm against his skin all year 'round, and each morning it became a ritual to put it on and remember that night - to remember to never let himself get in such a state of mind once more, and to remember that _all_ life, no matter how small or grand, was precious.

Yet he never did find a use for the shimmering, gemlike liquid trapped within the bottle. Not, at least, until one night...

It had been the final downfall of Voldemort that evening, a virtual army of Aurors storming the castle, doing battle with every dark minion and Death Eater they could find. The rush served a second purpose - to find Harry Potter, who had gone in hours before to try and battle Voldemort to the death. Albus had gone with the group of Aurors, although as soon as the main defenses were breeched and most of the traps sprung, it was obvious he was there primarily to find Harry. After searching many lonely halls, he finally came upon a grand chamber.

He ignored the limp form of Voldemort slumped against the opposite wall - not dead yet, but soon to be.

What he rushed over to was the body of Harry Potter, lying on his side on the floor. He wasn't breathing and, when Albus pressed his fingers against his neck, had no pulse. By all means, he was dead... but just. His skin was still pleasantly warm.

It was then Albus knew it. A foolish hope, but still... He reached up to his neck, fishing out the vial and snapping it off of its chain in one smooth motion. With a flick of his thumb, the vial was uncorked; a few glimmering redgold drops fell to land on Harry's lips, sliding obediently into his mouth. Albus didn't have to wait long. Almost instantly, the boy drew another shaking, rasping breath - then another, steadier and deeper this time - he groaned, stirring from his limp state...

A smile spread across Albus's face as he sat back and relaxed, hearing a few others come into the room - Ginny Weasley - ah, Ginny, of course - Ron, and Hermione. And with them, a flutter of wings - Fawkes, landing to rest on his shoulder, a comfortable warm weight.

And he smiled.

So _that's _what phoenix blood did.

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AUTHOR'S NOTES: Woah... first new story in what, forever?

Anyhow - explination - it's because I've been striving to be an author at the Sugar Quill (www.sugarquill.net) and guess what folks? I am! Nom-de-plume of PlaidButterfly. Go look me up.

Hope you enjoyed this short little story... It's strange and it needed to get out... 


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